


A Product of the Red Room

by Cloudcuckooland_has_a_Queen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Messed up Origin Story, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudcuckooland_has_a_Queen/pseuds/Cloudcuckooland_has_a_Queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce shouldn't have ever thought that she would have actually gone with him. He thought that things would be fine after she invented the lullaby. When Natasha disappears to confront her own her personal Hell, Bruce is forced to confront everything he's been running from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Busy To Miss You

Hurt and betrayal weren't new to Bruce Banner, and in hindsight, putting his trust in an already not so trustworthy spy that switched allegiances a lot in her career was stupid. She lured him in, the way she did with any mark. It was cruel of her to act like she wanted the same things as him. She spoke of running away and living somewhere quiet, but of course, when the time came, when he decided that he had enough and thought that when he ran, for once there would be someone to run with him, she disappointed him.

No you dumbass, she didn't disappoint you, she pushed you into a pit.

"I adore you."

Her words haunted him ever since he woke up. The Other Guy seemed to make the decision to leave for him. He didn't know what he would have done if he woke up to see Natasha staring down at him, no doubt with a proper explanation ready. The master manipulator would always find a way to use him. No doubt she would have soothed him, just enough to keep him calm until they needed him again.

But isn't it nice to be needed?

Not when Natasha Romanoff was involved.

It was ironic that the place he ended up was Russia. He hadn't meant it to be that way, but he figured that Natasha wouldn't think to search for him in her homeland. Then again, Natasha probably wouldn't be looking for him anyway. He lived in a quiet rural area, in nothing more than a shack overlooking the mountains and a small creek. It was also freezing all the time. The empty barren landscape did nothing to bring peace though, not the sort of peace he felt when Natasha brought him a cup of tea in the morning or whispered something funny about Steve or Tony in his ear. Bruce was fully aware that he was lonely, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He figured that when he was needed, he would be found.

Besides, in the end, the best way to calm him down was a lullaby, and he figured that Natasha was still the only one that would be able to do it.

Before

Bruce just wanted to disappear. He wished that he could fold in on himself over and over again until he was as small as a single atom. His teeth clacked together painfully and he shivered, very much aware of the fact that he did not have any clothes. He saw her black shoes before she threw a blanket over his body, and hauled him up into a sitting position. It was the first time he lost control since he chased her, since he almost—

"Banner's down. He's fine." Natasha's voice was low and businesslike for a moment before she switched off her set, "Dr. Banner? Dr. Banner—it's time to move—"

"I killed—I almost—"

"You didn't kill anyone, Bruce." He blinked, peering around at the wreckage, he could have sworn he heard screaming—"

"How'd you do that, Romanoff?" Barton called out to her.

Bruce was confused, but the pressure of her hand against his back told him it was time to go. His tired, aching body had to be supported by Natasha, but she carried him with grace and dignity, up into the shuttle where everything was safe and quiet—but it wasn't, not with all the blinking lights and bleeps, not with everyone (except Barton, Barton was flying the aircraft) staring at him like he did something more freakish than usual. Natasha was still beside him, rubbing the blankets for some form of friction.

"Once we're back, we'll get you some proper clothes." She told him, her voice was still clipped and short, but there was a soothing quality.

"Seriously, though. Usually it takes hours for us to chase him down." Steve rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean, how did you do that?"

"I'm not sure."

Bruce flinched away from Natasha. "W-what's g-going on?"

"Well." Tony Stark's unmistakably cocky voice sounded from whatever speaker was nearest, "Our resident black widow talked the Hulk down with a pretty little lullaby."

"What? That isn't—"

"It worked." Natasha's voice was as cold as the day he met her. She stood up, "That's what matters."

Hours later, Natasha perched on the edge of the sofa, lazily surfing through files on a tablet. She gave Bruce no delusions about being able to sneak up on her, immediately looking up the moment he entered the room.

"I—uh—wanted to thank you—"

"For what?"

"I don't know." Bruce shook his head, feeling as if he was under a microscope.

"I don't know if it could happen that way more than once." Natasha immediately closed out of what she was working on, "But if it is replicable, we should try to do so, because it's far more efficient than tranqs or guns or really anything."

"What—what did you do exactly?"

Natasha gestured for Bruce to sit next to her on the sofa. She was close, not as close as after he transformed, but close enough that he felt nervous. Shouldn't she be the one more afraid of him?

As if reading his thoughts, Natasha spoke, "A healthy dose of fear keeps you alive."

That was it. Natasha was the only one that knew just how dangerous he was, and the only one that treated it with the same level of severity. Everyone else joked and laughed it off, but Natasha knew what it was like to be on the other end of the Other Guy's rage. Yet, she still smiled at him and offered her hand. She was humming something slow and sweet while she did this, running her hand up and down his arm.

"The sun's getting real low." She whispered, and a faint memory of her saying that flickered through his mind, almost immediately chased away by the feeling of her fingertips on his skin, "It's been a long day. We're all very tired."

Bruce laughed weakly, "You've been training it in me. Ever since the helicarrier, you've been saying things like that—humming that—are you attempting to control my mind?"

"No. I'm hoping to control the Other Guy. Subliminal messaging." She gestured outside, "The sun's getting real low, doctor."

"So this is your way of controlling the situation." Bruce tipped his head back, closing his eyes as she slid her hand down his forearm one more time, "And it worked?"

"Yeah. Yeah it did."

"Sun's getting real low huh? Where'd you get that one?"

"You say it when you're tired."

"Oh—" He didn't expect her to know things like this, but then again, she was a spy. Spies observed.

Natasha didn't have time to be upset.

She purposely made it so. Getting the new Avengers team together was hard and difficult work that required hours of planning, practice, and the occasional mission. Really, she didn't feel like she had the right to be mad that he left. He was always wanting to run and run and run but that last time, she thought that maybe she could run too. It was a happy fantasy while it lasted. A beautiful delusion that she constructed for herself when it seemed like things wouldn't be so dire without her. Of course, the long list of people, robots, aliens, and who knows what else shattered that. Natasha would never be able to run away from her work, without constantly wondering if there was someone else she could help, someone else that needed to be terminated, another life lost, another life saved.

Her ledger still wasn't clean and running away wouldn't fix it.

Natasha couldn't allow herself to be mad at Bruce because she wronged him. She used him one last time, and fate of the world be damned, that was all it took to rip apart the tentative trust they developed. He would assume that she was still the operative that lied her ass off on their first meeting. In many ways, she still was. The Red Room bent and twisted her from the moment she was orphaned, but she was allowed to choose now. She was allowed to be a better person, even if by helping far better people, she had to dirty her hands, or let Bruce go on yet another sabbatical.

She chose to go with Barton.

She chose to be Aunt Nat.

She chose to push Bruce.

She chose to fight.

It was better for the fallout of her choices to rain down on her own tattered body, rather than that of to what others believe (except maybe Barton and Laura, they understood her better than anyone she had ever met) she wouldn't simply throw them under the bus when it suited her. She wanted to be helpful. She wanted to be good. She would continue to fight for their sakes.

It's the only thing you know how to do.


	2. Natasha Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some events are presented out of order

Natasha placed a plate full of steaming pasta in front of Wanda. The girl stared blankly at it before taking a single, tentative bite. After that, she dug in, eating until her fork scraped the plate. Natasha didn't even have to wait for her plea before she put more spaghetti and meatballs on her charge's plate.

"I saw a dark place when I saw your mind." Wanda spoke at last, wiping her face unceremoniously with her napkin.

"I was there. Remember?" Natasha smiled despite herself, "Those were unfortunate times."

"I'm sorry about intruding upon your mind."

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I—I trust you."

"Wanda—"

"I trust you even when nobody else does. I always trust you."

"Always will trust you. English tenses are difficult, aren't they?"

"Deflection."

"Good girl. Thank you for putting your trust in me. After your childhood and the hell you've been through, that's a very precious thing."

"You know better than them." Wanda lowered her voice slightly, "I saw—"

"You saw a place no one should ever go."

"They—they told me about the Red Room. I didn't believe them. I thought it was silly—and even when your files were leaked—it was just a rumor."

"It's never just a rumor."

"Could it still exist?"

"That's very—sadly very—possible, Wanda." Natasha shook her head, taking her time rolling noodles on her fork and taking a bite.

"You should look into it, Natasha." Wanda looked down at her plate, "At least my brother and I had a choice."

"And now you've made yours." Natasha covered Wanda's shaking hand, "As did your brother."

Wanda and Pietro were prepared to die the same day she almost fled. It was for people they only just met, people of the country they wanted to protect, and millions of people they didn't know. Natasha's choice had been pragmatic. It had been right. She could always be counted on to be pragmatic and practical, but she was still not quite used to reasoning things in terms of right and wrong. Wanda stood up, taking their plates to the sink to wash them.

The girl had become an unofficial roommate of sorts. She was placed in her care, even though Wanda was more than capable of taking care of herself. Even in her time of mourning, Wanda couldn't be distracted from the goal. Natasha surmised that her brother would have been very proud of Wanda. They would never know for sure though. He was dead.  
00000  
Before

"You shouldn't beat yourself up about the helicarrier so much." Tony spoke suddenly, "Natasha's tough."

"I almost killed her—"

"Look, if there's anyone in the world that could figure out how to kill you if really, truly needed, it would be the Black Widow."  
"That's a bit of a stretch—"

"No—no it's really not. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already cooked up a few good theories on it. The fact that she didn't want to test any of them out on you and your Hulkiness suggests that she, like the rest of us, likes having you around." Bruce snorted. He doubted it. He couldn't even die. That was the worst part. He couldn't find that final cure, so how could she?

Tony shook his head, "If anyone can kill you, it's Agent Romanoff. I have no damn clue why that would be a relief to you, but there you have it."

Both men grew silent when Natasha entered the room, her eyes catching Bruce's. She was humming a strange little tune he never heard before, "Fury wants to speak with you, Stark."

"uggh—what does Cyclops want now?"

"You said that last time. Here I thought you were clever." Bruce couldn't help but grin at Natasha's remark.

"I am clever!" Tony shouted as he walked out the door.

Natasha didn't have time for a reply that was no doubt at the tip of her tongue. Instead, she turned towards Bruce, "I don't know how you can stand him. Being his PA for two weeks was excruciating."

"You were his assistant?"

"Undercover." She pressed a finger against her lips, "The others don't know that entire story—shhhh."  
000000000000

Romanoff had been missing four days before Steve decided it was time to call it in. It wasn't in her nature to disappear, especially not without a mission. Yet, she wasn't anywhere to be found. At first, he simply assumed that she wanted to be alone for a while and it was highly unlikely that she had been kidnapped. Four days seemed far too permanent though, permanent like Banner's abandonment. It didn't sit well with him.

"My problem with Romanoff being gone, is mainly that we won't be able to find her if she doesn't want to be found. Tracking Banner is easy in comparison."

"Wait, you know where Dr. Banner is?"

"Yeah—why?"

"Has it occurred to you that maybe that's where she went?"

"Why would she go there—?"

"You are an idiot." Hawkeye shook his head like Steve was a lost cause. Steve didn't particularly like that look on him but decided to ignore the comment.

"So Black Widow's hooked up with the Hulk in some remote part of South America then?" Tony asked, not even looking away from the data he had on the display.

"Well, actually it's Russia but—"

"Even better. We can get some good vodka while we're there."

"You're not taking this seriously—"

"Look. It's Natasha. Super not so secret anymore agent and assassin that is likely in her homeland, sipping vodka with Dr. Banner. Maybe they need somewhere quiet. Somewhere to be alone for a while."

"Did you say something that was actually heartfelt and genuine?"

"No, I just don't feel like going to Russia."

"We could at least make contact with Banner."

"Good. You do that. I'm looking at solar panels for the new place."

"That's—nice, I guess. Barton, want to go check it out with me?"

"Yeah. Nat would at least give me a tip off, though. Especially if she was going off grid with Banner. He's terrible at covering his tracks by the way."

"And that's why he's a Hulk scientist, and not a spy."

"You're worried too, admit it. Laura will have a fit if she knows Natasha's gone AWOL on us. She's supposed to babysit on the twelfth."

Steve looked at both of the men, "Am I the only one that's worried?"

"No." Hawkeye replied, his light tone suddenly changing, "I'm just waiting for you to tell me when we ship out."

Bruce almost dropped his coffee mug, staring at the three men standing at his door. Wanda Maximoff was behind them, her arms crossed to ward off the cold, but she was staring calculatingly into his eyes. The Other Guy stirred for a moment, but then he fell silent, much to Bruce's relief.

"You found me."

"We never lost you." Steve said, his kind voice sounding more patronizing than anything else. "Agent Romanoff told us that we should leave you alone for a bit."

"Wh—"

"Look, vacation's over, pal." Tony interrupted, "We need your help again—Wanda?"

"She's not here." Wanda replied.

"Do I have to stop global destruction again?" Bruce asked wearily.

"No—"

"Tasha's gone missing." Wanda interrupted Clint, "We must find her."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found." Bruce didn't know where to put his hands, and ended up clasping them in front of himself like a chastised school boy. He didn't want to think about Natasha. He didn't want to think about any of it, but they didn't seem to be giving him a choice.

"Natasha's not like you." Wanda snapped, her eyes burning red as the shutters on the cottage flapped back and forth.

"Wanda—calm down—"

"She doesn't run."

That hurt. Not enough for him to transform, but that hurt. Bruce shook his head, "Do you have any idea where she is?"

"We think she's here, in Russia. We thought she might have sought you out."

"No—she hadn't." Bruce's heartbeat increased slightly. Had she intended to? What would she have said? Would he just allow her to manipulate him all over again? Where was she? Why was he bothering with asking about this at all? He wanted to ask all of these questions, but instead, what came out of his mouth was "We'll find her."  
000000000000000000000  
The next time Natasha thought about Pietro and Wanda, she was hiding. She was going to die that night. It was an eventuality that hung over her head and weighed her down. There weren't many things that she wanted to say to anyone. Oddly enough, apologizing to Laura Barton about unexpectedly dropping off the face of the earth was the first thing she thought of doing. Telling her, Clint, and the children how much she cared for them all was next. Everyone else would assume what she would have said to them, based on their limited knowledge of her.

She gasped, clutching the wound in her side, literally feeling the poison pulsing through her swelling veins as her heart worked in overtime (and in vain) to keep her body going.

"Tattie—what should I do?" A girl's voice made it through the haze that overtook Natasha's mind.

It took her a moment to grasp for her native Russian,"Be a dear." Natasha's voice sounded oddly cold and detached, even to her own ears, "And shoot me in the head."

She heard the gun click.

No one could really know what the dead thought of them.


	3. A Prima Donna's Ugly Feet

Natasha stood in front of Nick Fury as she was going over documents that she wasn't supposed to have access to. She did it so often that Fury had given up on keeping her out of the loop on any level. He knew her distrust of organizations and her "need to know" attitude had been practically dead from the moment she joined SHIELD. She only trusted Clint and Nick, and even those bonds could be shaky at best.

"What is it, Romanoff?"

"I'm leaving the Avengers." She decided to be point blank about it.

"And why is that?"

"It's disbanding to an extent anyway and after Sokovia, I'm mainly seen in a good enough light that I can go away now."

"Do you mind telling me where you're going?"

"Tell them I'm going to Russia. They'll assume I'm going to find Bruce."

"Agent Romanoff, what are you planning to do?"

Natasha smiled in response. Nick always knew there was a hidden agenda "I'm going undercover. Deep undercover. No extractions, no communications, nothing that will connect me to Avengers or anything you've organized. It's a personal mission, sir."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Can't tell you. I might not come back. It's—I'll be slipping back in some of my old ways."

"Natasha."

"Yes?"

"Never forget that somewhere, deep down, under all of that crazy leather, homicidal tendencies, and pathological lying, there is a good person."

"Good one, Nick. I'm going out. Please don't tell them. If you do—I'm far better than anyone else who has tried to kill you. And that is not an empty threat."  
00000000000

Bruce trudged alongside Steve. He didn't know where they were going. Tony had to return New York for some reason or another, but Bruce wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that a Russian winter was settling in. Wanda was ahead of them, dead set on finding Natasha it seemed. He didn't know how to feel about the witch like girl. She brought out his worst fears and what made him angry so quickly that his transformation occurred too rapidly for him to think about it. Natasha had been hit by Wanda too, which made it strange that she and Wanda were friendly. Not friends though, Natasha didn't really seem to think of anyone but Clint as her friend. Wanda could set him off at any moment. He felt his heartbeat elevate, remembering the visions she put in his head.

—An entire city in flames that he couldn't stop smashing—

—Natasha—where was she? He was angry—so angry—

—Red—her body on the ground—did he—?

—Blood—no—a bullet—

"Hey Bruce? Bruce? Are you okay?" Steve asked.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder at him, seeming apologetic but saying nothing. Bruce took deep breaths, trying to control his breathing, "I'm just—"

"Worried? Yeah, me too. All Nick could give us was Russia—and when it comes to land mass, that's huge. She's also so much better at hiding than us. If she wanted to be found, she would send up a signal, so I'm assuming she hasn't been kidnapped."

"What if—?" Wanda began to ask the question Bruce had been avoiding.

"She's not dead." He cut her off, his voice flat.

"Of course she isn't." Steve sounded so optimistic that the other two both wanted to punch him.

"Where are we going now?"

"A house."

"Safe house?"

"Safe for the enemy, maybe." Wanda replied darkly, "I saw part of Tasha's mind. A man's name. I searched him in the databases. I searched him in the files. I found his picture finally, with a different name altogether. He lives here."

'Here' turned out to be an old, run down looking house in a row of old run down looking houses, which all had roofs that looked like they bent under the weight of the snow. A pair of little children were playing in the yard, throwing snowballs at each other, and laughing. They reminded Bruce of Clint's kids and he couldn't help but feel a little wistful. He thought Natasha had been wistful too, but he didn't know. He couldn't know for sure, not until he asked directly, without any motivation for her to lie to him.

Wanda reached out and knocked, "Mr. Sharonoff?"

"What do you want?" A man demanded, opening the door, speaking broken English. In the background, Bruce heard music. He couldn't place where it was from for a moment, but then he realized it was from Swan Lake. He was old and balding, with glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Wanda cocked her head to the side, "That's not your real name, is it?"

"Look, I don't know who sent you or what you're doing but-"

"It's about Natasha-Natalia Romanova." The man's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"I think it'd be best if you come in."  
00000000000000000000

She found the person she was looking for outside of Moscow. All the signs were there. The girl used razor wire to kill in close quarters. He was a political figure, not famous enough to become a martyr, but fully capable of being a problem to the powers that be. Russia was an interesting place to be in. It was always changing, for the better, for the worse, either way it never stayed the same. Empires rise and fall so easily that Natasha didn't see the point in getting attached to them.

The girl had a dancer's body, dark red hair just like Natasha's, and a gun hidden in her coat. She couldn't have been more than eleven. That was when Natasha had her first mission. Killing without compassion was easy by then. It was a given that killing was a part of their lives. It was ingrained into them, from the first time that the killed another girl with her bare hands, all for the sake of survival.

Suddenly the girl turned, but before she could get the chance to draw her weapon, the Black Widow had a cord wrapped around the girl's body, dragging her forward and to her knees.

"Why are you following me?"

"I need to know where your handlers are."

"Why?" The girl spat, struggling, but Natasha could tell this was a rudimentary attempt at gathering information.

"Because I'm the Black Widow. I'm going to let you go and you're going to lead me to them. Every trick you have, I know."

"You can't possibly—"

"Let's see, you got a mission by eleven—that means that you probably first killed another girl when you were nine. It was training, you didn't want to, but your tutor willed it. You didn't want to be seen as weak. Weak girls die."

"You're the Black Widow? The one that leaked everything on SHIELD and Hydra."

"The one and only."

The girl nodded, "Natalia."

"Call me Tattie for short. What's your name?"

"Yelena."

"Lena for short?"

"I've never had a short name."

"Well today's a new day, Lena."

"Will you let me out now? I won't try to kill you. Survival is my imperative at this stage."

Natasha's heart dropped. She remembered being eleven. She remembered phrases like that going through her head at each stage in a mission. Lena climbed out of her slackened bonds and turned, walking ahead of Natasha.

"Are you going to kill my handlers?"

"Would you mind if I did?"

"Not really." Came Lena's apathetic reply, "I can always get a new one."

Natasha was always a fighter. Even when she was very small, she was fighting. She was stuck underneath rubble for three days before someone dug her out. Her brothers and parents had been killed. Lot's of people had been killed, so they didn't pay much attention to the orphan that was picked up one day. They hadn't lured her with food or promise of seeing her parents like the other girls. Instead, a man crouched down in front of her, cradling her little hand in his. Snow fell around them, as it always seemed to, endless and without reprise.

"It is very cold here." He said.

"It is." Natasha (Natalia was her name then) felt the warmth that encompassed her hand, the smooth leather of his glove against her raw, chapped fingers. He was big and strong, towering over her like a mountain.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"And your neighbors?"

"None." Natasha left out the part about the people left ignoring her. They were as hungry as she was. Some of them had broken limbs, or bits and pieces cut off with ugly pus seeping from their wounds. They didn't have room for her in their world.

"How do you keep warm?"

Natasha pointed towards the rubble remains of a house, "I go underground. I light a fire like my mama sometimes."

"That's very clever of you." The man nodded encouragingly, "Do you want to go somewhere warm?"

"Warm?"

"Yes warm—and there's pretty ballet dancers. Did you ever go to a ballet before?"

Natasha shook her head.

"They work very hard until their feet bleed and ache to make a beautiful show. You would be good at it. You bled and yet you stand straight. That is what can make a dancer in the Red Room."

A Red Room sounded ominous to Natasha, but she wasn't about to let him walk away without her. She assumed that nothing could be worse than the Hell she encountered in the past month by herself. Natasha still can't bring herself to regret taking his hand. She would have never met Clint, or Bruce, or Tony, or Wanda or anyone else that meant anything in her life if it weren't for the Hell she chose.

She saw herself, years later, rising effortlessly to her toes and stepping down just as quickly, making the motion look painless, making it look pretty.

The memory was ingrained in her head but it wasn't until she started to follow Lena that things she pushed out of view were coming back to haunt her.

She had a mission and Lena was an operative.


	4. A Hawkeye Perspective

He wished she would have told him she was leaving.

Actually no, that was a lie. Clint just wanted Natasha to come home, already. She belonged as a member of his family. Both he and Laura had no extended family, and both worried about how that would affect the children but Natasha fell into the role of "Aunt Nat" and their fears, oddly enough, were alleviated. It hadn't been easy for her. If it had been, Clint would have assumed that she was just assuming another cover. She genuinely wanted to be Aunt Nat, and it worked.

He hated down time; he hated having nothing to do other than hang out on top of a person's roof in the snow in freaking Russia, watching an old man tell his companions a story. It was always best to show all the guns, in case there's need for a sniper in the works. That's where he came in, sitting and watching. Sitting and waiting was what he did best, but God, he almost missed the excitement of the world nearly being ended by technology that was meant to protect it. After that, watching an old man through the window was boring.

It didn't help that his usual companion wasn't there with him, not even being a comforting voice in the chaos. Natasha had never been a runner. He had a bad feeling about her disappearance. Then again, she had been odd, recently. In fact, she hadn't been all right (as all right as she could be, all things considered) since Wanda reached inside her mind. Bruce's little stunt did nothing to help it along. He thought Natasha was finally starting to get something resembling happiness. She never told him exactly what happened between her and Bruce, but he gathered that she had no choice but to induce his transformation. Superficially, he saw exactly why, pragmatically speaking, she did it. They needed all the manpower they could get to stop a robot invasion. Clint also could see it as self-sabotage.

Maybe in her own bizarre way, Natasha thought she was protecting Bruce by chasing him away as much as Bruce thought he was protecting her by running away. He would have to run this theory by Laura when he got home. Natasha always thought of others first. His hand instinctively went to a pocket where a pill was hidden.

He would also have to ask her to make him hot cocoa because RUSSIA IS FUCKING COLD.

* * *

.

Natasha needed to come home and become Aunt Nat and his closest friend again.

Things weren't making sense again.

She was getting sick.

A bit of hair fell into the sink after she combed her hair.

It was getting worse.

The day before she decided to leave the Avengers, Natasha threw up three times. When she took a knife and drew a line across the top of her thigh, she found that her blood had taken a sickly color. She didn't know if the Red Room still existed. She would have no choice but to find out. A part of her hoped it was still there but another part of her hoped that everything about the Black Widow Ops had been buried with the Cold War, even if it meant she had to die for it. There was a part of Natasha that never wanted to roll over and die though. That's what made her an excellent Black Widow.

Bruce was also in Russia. If she happened to find him in the process, she could easily cite her mission as the reason. It would be nice to get to see him again.

Before.

Clint received his orders with dignity, although secretly he was squirming a little. It wasn't every day that an archer was assigned to take a Black Widow Ops assassin. Finding her wasn't difficult. He wondered briefly if she was leaving breadcrumbs for him for some reason. They were in Peru, standing and staring at each other for a moment before he drew his bow and she took a long cord and ripped it from his hands. From there, the fight was a blur. She was deadly, more like a mercenary than an assassin in the way that she could easily traverse the rugged landscape.

He threw her up against the wall, and there was a moment, a strange little moment where something different glinted in her eyes. She spotted something behind him and before he could react, she pushed him to the side. A bullet ripped through her thigh, and she shot into the night once before slumping against the cliff side, her hand going to her wound.

Instinctively, Clint dropped to her side, "What were you—?"

"You were—" She gasped, clutching at her wound, "Going to kill me anyway. Might as well not let you get shot. Don't—ah—want someone who killed me dying so—pathetically. Principle really."

"Really?"

"Nah—" She giggled suddenly, "You just don't seem all that bad. And—I'm tired."

At that point, Clint realized that there was some shred of humanity in the Black Widow. She wouldn't be easily persuaded, but he figured it'd worth a try or two. He immediately got to work, fashioning a quick tourniquet with the handle of a knife.

"You've done this before." She commented dryly, her head tipped up towards the sky. "Why bother?"

"It would help if you had something else to focus on." Clint ignored her question.

"Hmmm—how about a question?"

"Like what?"

"Do you have a family?"

It sounded innocent enough, "Yeah." He had just gotten married to Laura at the time, and she already had a baby on the way.

"That's nice. Families are nice." She shifted uncomfortably as he tightened it, wrapping her wound, "I'll need stitches."

"How about your family?"

"Drunkards. Blown to bits anyway. If I were you and I had a family, I wouldn't be here, my friend. This is darkness."

"What's your name?"

"Natasha."

"Mine's Clint, Clint Barton. And I'm allowed to have a family if I so wish."

"Keep them off everything." Natasha smiled, "Not even your most trusted handler should know much."

"Great advice, coming from a killer."

"If I were trying to get to you, I'd take your family first." Natasha tried to shrug, but winced instead. "It's logical. Protect them."

"You're different than I expected."

"Before, I'd been asleep." Natasha finally lost consciousness.

Clint took a lot of heat for taking Natasha to the extraction point, but he didn't care. After receiving proper medical treatment and hours upon hours of interrogation, Natasha was sent to him to be trained. Everyone was under the assumption that he would fail, but if there was anything Natasha was good at, it was adapting to a new situation. She didn't meet Laura for two years and that was only to prove how easy it was to find them. They moved and the only people that knew the new location were Fury and Natasha.

At first, the sight of Natasha on the floor with a toddler was a strange and foreign one. "Get your own." He said jokingly.

"I can't." She replied simply, "I can't ever have this."

* * *

 

Natasha and Yelena sat across from each other. From the outside, they were just two people, perhaps a mother and daughter meeting for dinner. Internally though, they silently fought over who got to have their back to the wall, but Natasha won through seniority. It was the safest seat in the house, giving her a good view out the window. The waitress walked up to them, completely oblivious to the tense air that surrounded them. Yelena rushed to order, obviously truly excited by the prospect. Natasha remembered that. Every time she operated alone, she could eat whatever she wanted for once. Food wasn't measured out or with held from her as much as it was at the academy. Natasha ordered as well.

"Oh! How nice! Mother daughter lunch dinner! You're both so pretty!" The waitress giggled.

Yelena's hand immediately reached up to touch her reddish hair, "Yes—Mama, can I get dessert?" Her eyes widened a little too dramatically. Natasha would have to work on the girl's acting.

"Only if you promise to study hard tonight." Yelena cocked her head at the words, trying to decipher a double meaning. Natasha settled back in her seat as the waitress walked away, "If you want to be like me, then you're going to have to be far more dedicated to your acting. It's not all about physical weak spots. The mental ones are the most vulnerable. There are points of improvement in your technique. I'll try to teach you before we get to the school."

Yelena nodded thoughtfully, "If—if I do this—I can leave—I don't go back?"

Natasha smirked, "Yes. Now figure out if I'm lying or not."


	5. Cinderella's Broken Glass Shoes

The best way to sabotage a ballerina is to target her feet. Even the most minor of injuries would cause her to be cast to the side because feet were the columns on which the rest of the dancer relied on.

All Natalia had to do was put a little broken glass in her shoes and watch her fall.

* * *

 

They shared a compartment on the train. Closer and closer and closer—

SHIELD had very little intelligence on the Red Room. In fact, they operated under the assumption that it died with the fall of communism in Russia. Natasha never sought it out. She found that a little strange. Surely, she would have at least done a little bit of research, if not for SHIELD, then for herself? In protecting herself, she was protecting the horror show that created her. She still was.

"He thinks I used him." Natasha didn't know what about Yelena caused her to confide in the girl, but as soon as she spoke of Bruce, Natasha figured out it was a good test of Yelena's manipulation skills.

"Did you?"

"Is there anybody we don't use, Lena?"

"I thought—"

"That you'd escape it? Possibly. I did this a lot longer before I woke up. I graduated. You haven't—and won't."

Natasha added the last part on the end, more for her own sake than Yelena's. The child was so small. Was Natasha really that small once? It was a strange thought. It was like picturing one of the Barton kids holding a decapitated head. Bruce thought that he was the only one with no choice in the matter, but looking back, Natasha realized that she didn't have a chance in Hell of being normal.

Natasha knew human nature and she knew the Avengers even better. They wouldn't blame Bruce for leaving but they would demand a sound explanation of every action from Natasha because they expected her to be logical. Was she not allowed respite? Was she not allowed to try and seek peace in whatever way she possibly could? Maybe she was delusional, but torching the Red Room and stealing it's secrets felt like it would wipe her ledger clean and maybe—

It would never be clean.

She will never be free.

She had to keep fighting.

"You are completely insane." Natasha thought to herself, clutching her head as a splitting headache ripped through her.

The reply came next, "No. I'm waking up."

Before

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Bruce asked one day, his head tipped back against the wall. He didn't want to admit how calming her voice was, but when she hummed that same tune as the sun set, he couldn't help but relax.

"I've been appointed as your handler."

"My handler? Like a dog?" He tried to laugh, but it sounded a little too forced and wispy. Natasha didn't buy it for a minute.

"A little. It's a spy and assassin term." Bruce winced. He didn't like being reminded that he was now lumped in with assassins and monsters. "In normal cases, that entails neutralizing you if you become too volatile, but that's kind of impossible with you. Basically it means that any unnecessary damage you cause is on me for not preventing it."

"Good luck with the job security." Bruce couldn't help but be snarky.

She shrugged, "You work with what you got."

"So you've been ordered to be nice to me."

"No. I've been ordered to keep you in control as much as I can."

"That explains the pretending to be nice to me thing, then."

"I'm not pretending to be nice to you." Bruce looked at her, but Natasha's eyes were fixed on the view, "You're my friend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Are friends not nice to each other? I'm still new to the feeling."

She seemed entirely serious. Her tone wasn't light at all when she said it, and Bruce couldn't help but feel a little bad for her. "Not sure. I never really had friends either."

"Here I thought your upbringing was normal."

"Compared to yours? Maybe. Compared to others? Not really."

"I read your file."

"Of course you did." Bruce shrugged, "I read yours too."

"Wonderful."

Natasha returned to humming. Bruce wanted to know what the song was, but for some reason he was reluctant to ask. Instead, he stared out at the sunset, as he did practically every night.

"Sun's getting real low." He finally said, "We should probably go back in."

"You know, you go to sleep really early for a mad scientist. I thought you were all insomniacs." Natasha teased, but he didn't sense any bite to it.

"Yeah, well, I make up for it by being an early riser."

She smiled, "We can wait a little longer." Her phone vibrated. She checked it and the corners of her mouth fell out of its easy smile, "Wait for me, and I'll come back."

"Take your time."

Frankly, those days out on the balcony never got old for Bruce. Even if he knew that they were just manipulation and attempts at subliminal messages for the Other Guy, he loved the feeling of sitting out on the balcony and talking to Natasha like a normal human being. The strangest part about that was that she never let him forget what he became. Everyone else tried to ignore it for the most part, treating him like Bruce, and an occasional dose of the Other Guy, but Natasha seemed to understand that he was always there, ready to come out at a drop of a hat. Yet talking to her felt as easy as taking deep breaths to stave off the anger.

Maybe he just didn't want to scare her again.

After they established that the "lullaby" worked, something shifted between them. Bruce should have been irritated with her (or with himself for not realizing it) for having a hidden motive but he wasn't. She joined him on the balcony after that and even though he was completely aware of what she was doing, he still felt something more. He shouldn't have. He didn't know when it started, but he stared looking at her like she was more than an operative who ripped him away from his falsely peaceful life and beyond that of an ally or a friend. He was aware that he stared at her and went out of his way to seek her company and he was aware that she was aware of this, but he couldn't change the path he was on. Bruce made the mistake of being very fatalistic about the whole ordeal, like he had no choice.

He had one. It wasn't like she purposely decided to make a monster fall in love with her. She wasn't that crazy.

He hoped.

* * *

The elderly man settled on his sofa, not bothering to turn down the music. It came from an old cassette player. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, "You're Sokovian." Wanda noddd. The man, shook his head, "How did you find me?"

"It took a lot of time and effort. It was really luck." Wanda leaned forward as well, "Alexei Shostakov, we have no interest in dragging you out of hiding. You have heard of Natasha joining the Avengers, no?"

Bruce watched the man's face carefully. Natasha once told him about some telltale signs of anxiety. She was quick to tell him that there were no real tells for lying and that most of the ones that were talked about were urban myths, but anxiety was a completely different story. Alexei's mouth curved down slightly, and he drew his hands in his lap as if to make himself a smaller target. Bruce realized that it was one of the same actions he took when Natasha was mentioned.

"Yes."

"Who was Natasha to you?"

"It is a long story, dear girl." Alexei replied darkly, "And I don't know if I want to tell."

Bruce took a few slow breaths. He was getting irritated with the spy shit already, and they had only been at it for roughly a day. "Look. We just want to find her."

"May best if she's not found."

"Don't give me that shit." Bruce banged the table, causing everyone else in the room to jump, fearing what he would do if he turned.

"Banner—" Steve warned, but Bruce paid no mind.

"Your safety won't be an issue if you keep this up. I want to know everything you know and—" Bruce froze, "—What is this song?"

Alexei blinked at the sudden change of subject, "Wh—"

"This song." It was what Natasha hummed constantly when they saw the sunset—when she was training him—manipulating him. He desperately wanted to know where it came from, like it would suddenly solve all the mysteries that plagued him.

"It's from a ballet. It was never produced."

"About?"

"I don't think this is important, Banner."

Bruce didn't even turn towards Steve, "It is."

"It's from a ballet, it's about a girl sacrificing herself to a dragon. It was never produced because of an unfortunate incident. Three ballerinas were found murdered. The prima donna disappeared entirely. It was decided that it was bad luck."

"When was this?"

"1956." He shook his head, putting it in his hands, "All this time, I thought she was dead."

"Who?"

"My wife. The prima donna. My Nat came home every night until she didn't. Word spread about the murders but no one was looking for Natalia. I saw her on the news when your organization went up in flames—I couldn't believe it—my Natasha, alive and well."

Everyone in the room was silent after that statement. For the first time, Bruce noticed the framed photograph that rested face down in the evenings. Wanda passed it to him wordlessly. In black and white, clearly pictured was Natasha Romanoff high on her toes with an arm outstretched and a lively smile on her face. Something was written in Russian at the bottom, followed by 1955. She looked twenty or so, defying all logic.

"This is impossible." Bruce murmured, running a hand through his hair.

"I imagine they take her for a reason." Alexei's voice suddenly seemed very far away. There was nothing about this on Natasha's file. There was no indication of anything out of the normal, aside from being a trained Russian Operative and assassin. Nothing. Bruce took the photo out of the frame. It was aged convincingly enough. He couldn't find a twist or trick straight away.

"It appears Natasha had more secrets than we thought." Wanda plucked the photograph from Bruce's slackened hands, "We find out—where was the theater where they produced that ballet, Mr. Shostakov?"

Bruce was already out the door before he could hear the answer. Natasha had YET ANOTHER thing to explain to him the moment they (he) found her.

* * *

Up en pointe, Natalia rose and around and around she went.

On the floor, Natasha misses her cue to smoothly rise.

There's nothing like a fall to wake someone up.


End file.
